Stuck in the mud

The arrow points across the field

yet here I am, alone and stuck:

no sign that others have trodden this way before.

Endless sludge sucking at my feet

I slide and stumble, question and doubt

the way I have been sent.

Bogged down, boots heavy,

clothes spattered in mud,

each step becomes a challenge and a choice.

Is this the clay of which we are created?

Unpromising material for your art!

And did God choose to cake himself in this same mud?

To be with us, immerse himself in life below?

I struggle on and through a hedge

I catch a glimpse of the way ahead:

clearly marked, it calls me onwards

before it turns a corner out of sight.

A robin sings and the sun shines a little brighter.

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